Marrying the Billionaire (Bishop Brothers Book 2)

by Allie Winters

“If you’re concerned about established habits and energy levels, you may want to consider an older dog who’s already gotten all their puppy-age destructive tendencies out of them.”

  “Makes sense.” She eyes the dogs we pass, holding the back of her hand out for a few to lick through the metal bars.

  “Off the top of my head, we have a couple that might be a good fit for you. Petey here is about five years old and came from a home with kids, so he’s already familiar with them. How old is your stepdaughter?”

  “Twelve. Heading into prime sass territory.” She chuckles to herself. “Can’t blame her, though. I was the same way.”

  She kneels in front of a stall with a fluffy tan mutt inside. “What about this one?”

  “This is Sandy. She’s been here about a month.”

  The dog cautiously inches forward, her beautiful brown eyes hesitant but hopeful.

  “She’s six years old and we think she’s some kind of lab and cocker spaniel mix.”

  “She’s got cute ears.”

  Sandy sniffs at the back of her hand, then gives a small whine as she licks her.

  “I’ve never seen her chew anything, and she’s always well behaved. A real lady.”

  “Maybe she can teach me a few pointers,” she grins.

  “Would you like to take her for a walk? We could go around the block together.”

  She stands, biting her lip before nodding. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

  I clip a leash on the dog’s collar and tell Sabrina we’ll be back soon, then head outside into the warm sunshine.

  “I’m guessing you don’t let just anyone take dogs out for walks this fast normally?” Sandy strains at her leash as a squirrel darts across our path, and Claire quickly corrects her.

  “No,” I admit. “But I know you. I can bend the rules a little every now and then.”

  “I heard you bent the rules a lot lately.”

  I glance over at her, a smirk on her lips.

  “The Bishop brothers?”

  Oh, that.

  She laughs. “I see that look. Bit of a touchy subject?”

  “Sort of. It’s been an adjustment for sure.”

  “Well, from what I remember, Gabriel and Archer weren’t anything like each other. They only look alike.”

  I make a noncommittal noise. Yes, their features are similar, but to me, Archer will always be the one I’m attracted to.

  “I was surprised when I heard you and Gabriel were engaged to begin with. Seems like a mismatch in personalities. You and Archer make more sense.”

  A goofy grin creeps over my face. “We do?”

  “Yeah. You’ve both got that untouchable vibe.”

  My smile slips. Untouchable? Does everyone still see me like that?

  “How could I be more… touchable?”

  “What?” She glances over, taking me in. “Shit. I fucked up again, didn’t I? I need a filter for my mouth or something.”

  “No, no. It’s fine. I mean, it’s not fine. But it’s not your fault.” Ugh, what am I trying to say? “Just, could I ask you for some advice?”

  “Me?” She points to her chest. “People are usually asking me to stop offering unsolicited advice.”

  I smile, the sudden heavy weight in my stomach easing a bit. “This, um, relationship between me and Archer… it’s very new. And we haven’t exactly… in the bedroom…”

  “He can’t get it up?” she asks sympathetically. “They’ve got pills for that, you know.”

  “No, it’s not that.” I grimace. Oh God, wouldn’t that be just my luck? “I really want to… consummate things…” I search for a way to ask what I want without tipping her off to the real situation. I wouldn’t normally confide such a personal thing to someone I don’t know well, but I’m desperate for some advice. And there’s something about her that invites unusual conversation. “But it seems like he wants to take it slow. How can I speed things up? You know, seem more touchable?”

  Sandy steers her over to a tree for a potty break, and Claire eyes me carefully. “Everyone always thought you were beautiful.”

  Um, okay.

  “But you had that whole Ice Queen thing going on.” She holds up a hand before she even finishes speaking. “Not that you deserved it,” she adds. “But maybe he’s still seeing some of that.”

  Yeah, don’t think that’s the problem. He doesn’t even remember me from back then.

  “Instead of icy, you need to be someone who heats him up.”

  “So I need to be a… she-devil?”

  She throws her head back and laughs, nearly cackling. “Something like that. Show him you have a wild side. Guys like a girl they can get freaky with. Lady in the streets, freak in the sheets.”

  I cross my arms over my chest, glancing around in case anyone overheard. “I need to be freaky?”

  “I’m not saying install a sex swing in your bedroom or anything, but show him you’re going to do more than just lay there while he grunts on top of you. That you’ll make it exciting for him.”

  Okay, yeah, that’s more reasonable. Sex should be exciting. The thought of him naked, that big, powerful body over me in bed… look, I’m excited already.

  “Dress up in sexy lingerie and fuck me heels. You can’t get more obvious than that.”

  Oh my God, I can’t actually do that.

  Right?

  But if that kiss the other day was any indication, I need to up my game. The simple fact is, I want more. Sitting next to him in that concert hall Tuesday, the subtle musk of his cologne filling my nose, his hand right there on the armrest just a few inches from mine… Is it ridiculous to be twenty-seven years old and still crushing like this on someone? Especially when it’s your fake husband?

  I mean, I guess I could consider Claire’s advice. There’s that Victoria’s Secret over in midtown that’s on my way home. It wouldn’t hurt to check out what they have. And Archer did give me a credit card yesterday. I said I’d use it for emergencies, but a crisis of our marriage could be considered an emergency, right?

  “She’s a really sweet girl.”

  What now? Oh, right. The dog. “She’s always one of my favorites to walk. Very responsive to commands. Her last home must have taken a lot of time to teach her.”

  “Why did they give her up?”

  “They were moving overseas and couldn’t bring her with them. It was hard for her the first couple weeks when they didn’t return, but she’s bounced back.”

  She bends down to stroke Sandy’s silky ears, and the dog preens under her touch. “And no one else is interested in adopting her?”

  “People get distracted by the cute puppies when they come in. But Sandy here is already housetrained and doesn’t have all that crazy energy a puppy does.”

  She continues to pet her, a quiet moment that seems to be the start of a beautiful partnership. “Could you let me know if anyone else comes in to look at her? I want to bring Ava and see how she likes her.”

  “Of course.” I keep my grin to myself, loving when a dog worms its way into a person’s heart.

  We return to the shelter where Claire fills out some preliminary paperwork just in case she does adopt Sandy, and I’m left with plenty of paperwork of my own upstairs at my desk. I need to figure out more grants to apply for, and more than ever, actually put on that fundraising benefit I’ve been meaning to. At least I allocated money in the budget for it. And it theoretically should net us more in return. I should also stop by Mackenzie’s shop and see what she can do for me to plan it out.

  But for now, I have some other shopping to do.

  Chapter Seven

  Archer

  A gentle knock at my home office door has me startling, and I automatically straighten, unaware I was even hunched over my desk. I glance down at the bottom corner of my laptop, discovering it’s nine-thirty. Where did the time go?

  “Come in.” I rub the tiredness from my eyes, then have to rub them again to make sure I’m seeing right as Serena walks in holdin
g a glass of amber liquid. It’s not the drink I’m focused on, though, so much as what she’s wearing. A black silk robe encases her arms and torso, ending so high on her thighs, it’s a wonder it covers anything at all. What brought on this sudden change in sleepwear? Wait, have I even seen her in pajamas yet?

  She turns around to close the door, her hem riding higher for just a moment as she spins, and I quickly avert my gaze north before she faces me again, and exit out of the expense reports up on my screen. “What brings you by?”

  “You’ve been working so late, I thought you could use a drink. Something to relax.”

  Her blonde hair is loose around her shoulders, emphasizing the open neckline of her robe, a hint of lace peeking out from her cleavage.

  She doesn’t normally wear clothing so suggestive, does she? Have I just not been paying attention?

  “It’s Scotch on the rocks. Lori said it’s your favorite.”

  “Thanks,” I murmur as she leans across my desk to hand it to me, her robe gaping open briefly to reveal a set of perfect breasts encased in black lace. I accept it from her, unable to look away. All that creamy, kissable, lickable skin right there… I shake my head and take a sip of the Scotch, the burn of alcohol clearing my half-baked thoughts.

  She leans back, no hint on her face that I was just staring at her chest, and takes a seat on the edge of my desk, the robe riding high once more to showcase more smooth skin. Is she wearing panties underneath? Black lace to match her bra? Or if I parted that robe, would I find her bare for me?

  Whoa, where the hell is this coming from? I must be hard up. It’s been… God, I don’t even know how long.

  I take another swallow and thank her again, then realize I already did that.

  “It’s the least I could do. You work so hard all the time. Every night this week you’ve come in here and continued to work.”

  That’s because I’m making up for lost time attending these events that I normally would spend working.

  “Here, let me help.”

  She hops off the desk to walk behind my chair, settling her hands on my shoulders. She kneads at muscles I didn’t even realize were aching, and a groan slips out of me, her fingers magical as the tension dissipates. My initial instinct to tell her I’m fine and don’t need a massage drifts away as she works at my upper back next, the knots there releasing, a warmth spreading through me.

  Has she done this professionally or something? Or am I just that tight?

  After a few minutes, she runs her hands up the back of my neck, sending a wave of shivers through me. I lean forward to give her better access, her fingers massaging my scalp now.

  “Fuck, that feels good,” I mutter, instantly regretting the curse. “I apologize, I didn’t mean to use that kind of language-”

  “You can say fuck to me,” she says in her sweet voice, the juxtaposition between her innocence and the coarse word making it all the more arousing. “I don’t mind if you say that at all.”

  Her fingers finish kneading, sifting through my hair now, a different sort of pleasure. No woman has ever touched me like this, but there’s no real reason to ask her to stop. If anything, she has more right than anyone. But this feels too intimate, like the start of something else. And she’s my wife in name only.

  My desk phone rings, the display showing a business associate over on the West coast I’ve been expecting to hear from. “I have to take this,” I tell her. “It’s important,” I add, as if I need to justify why I’m answering a call in my own office.

  “I understand,” she says softly, stepping back around to the front of the desk. “Goodnight.” She tiptoes out, those long, toned legs filling my vision as she closes the door behind her.

  I stare at the closed door for a moment before the ringing phone catches my attention again. I rush to pick it up, almost toppling the base unit over in my haste. “Hello?” I answer breathlessly, flustered for some reason. I clear my throat and repeat myself in my normal voice. The one that conveys professionalism, authority. Not the one that teenaged me used the first time I saw a woman’s naked body in the flesh.

  Not that I’ll be seeing her naked tonight, I remind myself. The whole encounter had just been… different. A welcome one my back muscles tell me, loose and pliant for a change. Maybe I should consider hiring a masseuse.

  Or you could ask Serena to do it again tomorrow night.

  No, no. That wouldn’t be right. She made a friendly offer tonight, but I don’t expect her to do anything like that in the future.

  This relationship is in name only.

  “Have you seen this?”

  Angelina drops a printed online article in front of me, my reckoning finally due. “Tracy already showed it to me,” I sigh.

  “You’re almost worse than Gabriel,” she mutters under her breath, but I still catch it all the same. “Listen, can I be blunt?”

  I think she’s going to be regardless. I wave my hand forward in a by all means gesture.

  “You’re supposed to be in love. Now, Serena, she’s in love. Torso angled toward you, hand on your jaw, smile on her lips as she kisses you. All great body language. But you? You’re a statue. She might as well be kissing a block of marble.”

  I grind my teeth, but it’s not like I can argue with her. The photos from Monday’s benefit finally showed up online, and they weren’t flattering. For me, at least.

  “She caught me off guard.”

  “Well, get on guard then. Look, if you’re going to have stage fright, then try doing something at home. Take selfies together and post them on ThousandWords. Take a hundred pics if you have to, but find one where you’re relaxed and comfortable. Like you actually want to be next to her.”

  “Why is this even so important?”

  She gives me a saccharine sweet smile. “Because Mr. Bishop put me in charge of this. And with all due respect, I’m not putting my job at risk over something that’s easily fixable. I’ll come over to your apartment myself and snap pictures of the two of you if I have to.”

  I blink. She actually would too. “That won’t be necessary. We’ll take the selfies.”

  She relaxes, crossing her arms over her chest. “Archer, you’ve always been a dream to do social media for. You rarely go out unless it’s a business event, you don’t get yourself embroiled in scandals. No messy breakups, no PR nightmares. Not like Gabriel anyway.”

  It’s true. Angelina’s handled my ThousandWords profile for years so I don’t have to worry about it, and she’s never once complained.

  “But I’m almost regretting signing that NDA now because I can’t vent to anyone about how crazy you’ve made me the last week. I need some positive press, okay? Not a deer trapped in headlights when his wife kisses him.”

  My eyes narrow. “You’re pushing it.”

  She smirks. “Send me some pictures tonight. I’ll go through them and find the best one to post. Maybe we’ll start a spending time at home together kind of campaign, rather than seen all about town at the hottest events.”

  “Whatever you think is best.” That’s why she’s head of Public Relations.

  “I’ll have my team brainstorm some ideas for more personal pictures you can take.” She crosses my office, pausing at the door. “I know this doesn’t come natural to you. I appreciate you trying.”

  I nod, unsure how to respond.

  “You two can pull this off. She’s good for the company image. And for you.”

  For Archer, the successor of Bishop Industries, or me… personally?

  I find Serena on the couch reading when I get home, her face set in concentration. I shut the door softly so as not to disturb her, but she looks up all the same, smiling at me.

  “Another late night?”

  I check my watch. “It’s only seven-thirty.”

  “But Lori said you leave the house at seven-thirty in the morning. That’s a twelve hour day.”

  “Minus travel time and lunch. I left early today, actually.”

  “Oh
, okay.” She sets her Kindle on the coffee table and stands, heading into the kitchen. “Have you eaten? I can make you something.”

  “No, I asked Lori to leave me dinner in the fridge.” I loosen my tie and take off my suit jacket, rolling my shoulders back, the muscles suddenly tight. It’s probably just a Pavlovian response to the idea of her giving me a massage again. I don’t actually need one. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

  Her eyes widen. “Sure.”

  “Did you, uh, see the Manhattan Herald today?”

  “The pictures from the benefit? Yeah.”

  “Well, then you know what they looked like.”

  She winces slightly. “They were… fine.”

  “They were awful. I was awful. PR reamed me out earlier. Said we need a new angle.”

  “Okay, what does that mean?”

  “They want us to take selfies at home.” I internally scoff. Selfies. “They’re coming up with a list of more specific ideas, but I have to send something to Angelina tonight.”

  She shrugs. “No problem.” Yeah, for her. She can act. “How about we just snuggle on the couch? That’s easy enough, right?”

  I nod and head into the living room, taking a seat on the leather cushions, and pull my phone out of my pocket. “How should we, um-”

  “Here.” She gently takes the phone from me, fiddling with the settings. “Portrait mode on. Flash off. Do you mind if I…”

  She gestures to the spot next to me and I scoot over to make room for her.

  “No, we need to be close. Since we’re in love.”

  “Right.”

  She sits down, practically on top of me with the way her thigh presses against mine, her torso angled toward me, that floral perfume of hers taunting me again. She tucks her legs under her and leans into me, my arm automatically moving behind her to make room for her against me.

  I hesitantly wrap my hand around her shoulder, and she snuggles in further, holding my phone out in front of us. “You ready?”

  I nod, not ready at all, which is blatantly obvious after the first few pictures she takes.

  “Try smiling.”